


Kalopsia

by JupiterIsntReal



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Angst, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Clay | Dream / GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Deity Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Historical Inaccuracy, I'm Bad At Tagging, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M, Possible Character Death, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Burn, Violence, men in togas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JupiterIsntReal/pseuds/JupiterIsntReal
Summary: The warmth of the radiant sun was all but ignored by the sleepless capital city. A cacophony of shouts from merchants and townspeople alike rang through the fresh dewy air as the daily ramblings of Athens continued. Each corner of the place beamed bright with the promise of wealth, the blessings of the Gods on Mount Olympus itself smiling down.However, in the wake of the bustling society, a silent observatory slept within the outermost layer of the Athenian palace walls. The marble exterior glistening through the layers of vines that hugged the royal building. It was, for all intended purposes, a quaint and graceful structure- unlike the palace walls that it stood proudly against, the very face lined with a legion of bloodthirsty guards who hungered for nothing more than a break in their less-than-dramatic lives.Dream is the crown prince of Athens, wreaking havoc over the city with his best friend Sapnap.George is an apprentice under Philza, with a thirst for knowledge and a gateway into the royal court.
Relationships: Clay | Dream / GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

The warmth of the radiant sun was all but ignored by the sleepless capital city. A cacophony of shouts from merchants and townspeople alike rang through the fresh dewy air as the daily ramblings of Athens continued. Each corner of the place beamed bright with the promise of wealth, the blessings of the Gods on Mount Olympus itself smiling down. 

However, in the wake of the bustling society, a silent observatory slept within the outermost layer of the Athenian palace walls. The marble exterior glistening through the layers of vines that hugged the royal building. It was, for all intended purposes, a quaint and graceful structure- unlike the palace walls that it stood proudly against, the very face lined with a legion of bloodthirsty guards who hungered for nothing more than a break in their less-than-dramatic lives. 

Philza was a man who most certainly valued silence when working, much preferred the subtle ambiance of book pages as they whispered their tones of knowledge to him. He sat hunched at the wooden table which he often perched, his fingers nimbly graced the lines of the book he’d been obsessing over. Phil’s eyes strained as he struggled to read the page, not that the language was foreign- of course, it was foreign to him, but in a language, he could easily decipher…why couldn’t he read the damn thing? 

Oh.

Right.

“If you’re going to stand outside that bloody door all day, at least make your breathing quiet, boy. I can hear your lungs empty from here!” He called, hands finding their way through his aged complexion, meeting his golden hairline with disdain. Within the second, the door had opened with a creak, the small figure of a boy no taller than 5’8 silently entered, a basket of various herbs clutched in his arms and a quiver of harshly thrown together arrows slung carelessly across his back. “Oh, George, it’s you. Come in, boy, come in.” Philza’s worn-out expression lightened somewhat at the sight of the poor boy who had crossed his path, his eyes wandering over his frame quickly. 

George was easily no older than 20, unlike most boys in the capital, he’d not exactly been gifted with the muscles or the blind courage of a soldier. His short stature was less than favourable, aided by his fair and inexperienced complexion, no paler than the white marble statues that watched over the city at every turn. What first struck Philza upon first meeting the young boy, was his eyes. In all his years alive, George was the first boy he’d seen sporting two different irises. An astronomically rare chance, it had made an impression on the wizened philosopher when the child had come knocking on his door scrawny and weather-beaten.  
But what he lacked in physical strength, he’d all but completely made up with extraordinary knowledge. If he hadn’t known any better, Philza would’ve deemed the boy to have been blessed by the Goddess Athena herself. 

“I asked Wilbur for that nectar you needed, he’s out of stock until the next shipment which should be around Monday, I believe?” George hastily mumbled, placing down the basket of herbs next to Philza’s book. The royal philosopher hummed in begrudging agreement as he waved away the boy from his work. “Monday? Don’t you mean tomorrow? Dear Olympus, boy, are you losing track of time already?” His sapphire eyes met a mismatched gaze, “Your wasted talents are rotting your brain, you know? George—“

“Oh please, if you mention the festivities one more time, I already told you…parties are no place for m-“ George rambling was quickly ceased by the loud- and rather obnoxious- clearing of a throat.

“If you were to let me finish, George, I would’ve told you about a new thing I’ve discovered here.” Philza’s stern gaze bore into the apprentice, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t until that Philza’s face broke out with a bright grin did George let out the breath he’d forgotten he was holding; Philza was kind and caring, but Olympus above… he was nasty when he was mad. The boy bounded over to his mentor with an equally dashing smile as he hunched over the older man to see the new findings: A few scratchy notes written hastily in clear excitement, a written illustration mapped with annotations littered around, and a few complimentary ink splotches where the nib had been dipped into the ink and rushed onto the page while it dripped. 

“I haven’t named it…but it’s a constellation, can you see the shape? Here- let me just…” He reached out, drawing lines between each star to link them in a clear shape, “Can you see it? It forms a shape here, it’s another constellation, George! What should it be called? I think I’ve named so many that I must’ve simply run out of ideas-”

“Scorpio.” George’s eyes focused on the page as he traced the now dried ink lines with the nib of his index finger, “Look, it forms a scorpion shape, so we should name it Scorpio. It’s the only logical answer.” His gaze lifted from the page to the smiling face of the experienced elder next to him who merely smiled with nothing short of adoration for how gifted his apprentice was in his own right. “Excellent, really excellent! George! You’re coming into your own, I believe…” George’s face beamed at the praise, but as quickly as it came, it left with the next sentence, “Which is exactly why you should be attending the festivities of the royal palace with me! By making acquaintance with the royalty and other philosophers within the palace, your place within them would be almost completely certified- Oh George, don’t give me that look. They won’t take my vouch, as much as I would vouch for you, you must have multiple backings to become a philosopher of the royal council. I may be the head, but I am one man, George. One man is one vote.”

George's oncoming frown had now deepened. Philza was right, and he knew it. Rolling his eyes, the brunette sought the comfort of the chair at his desk, hand running through his soft hair in frustration. Philza was right, which was the most irritating thing of all. He was always right. No matter how much George wanted to avoid and push away his council, Philza was always right. “Suppose I were to go after all…” He started, rising from his slumped position, “Why would I benefit from a few philosophers who would rather spend their night in the brothels than speak to some starry-eyed new blooded apprentice?” 

“You know, George, for someone as gifted as yourself…No. You’re either completely an idiot and you’ve been fooling me all these years…or you’re just ignoring my advice because you know I’m right?” Philza’s attention remained on the newly appointed Scorpio constellation as he spoke. 

“They’re hungry for fresh blood within those musty walls, you’ve got a mind that they want. You’ve got what they’ve been searching for, so for the God’s sake! Go to that gathering with me and make a good first impression! I’m not going to do everything for you in life and I most certainly won’t be here for the rest of yours. 

Take this as a first step into your true destiny, George… and get your damned feet off of that table before I drag you to Tartarus myself.”

George quickly removed his feet from the table thereafter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap is drunk in bed.
> 
> Dream's pretty mad about it, he's got a party to plan for Olympus' sake. 
> 
> Sapnap is forced to go to Wilbur's apothecary, where he meets a certain brown-haired apprentice.

Clay’s patience was known to be on the lesser end of the longevity scale, he was known for getting his way almost instantaneously in any situation; people would often find themselves applying generous salves to their feet to heal the oncoming blistered formed from running around the palace grounds for the prince. Tartarus itself would bear witness as servants and guards alike cowered whenever they so much as caught a whiff of a misplaced staff member who was but a minute late to his scheduled orders.

They had dubbed him the: ‘Dream of Athens’. Not that he didn’t exactly mind the idea, often asking to go by ‘Dream’ to his many admirers, but it was the explicit reasoning for the otherwise innocent title. The young prince carried with him a tendency to ignore most of his royal duties in favour of more…social activities. His servants had lost count of the people who shamefully roamed the halls of the palace at ungodly hours with their clothes in a heap under their arms. 

So when the staff of Athens’ palace had caught Dream storming through the halls calling for his friend Sapnap with a ferocity rarely seen, they made sure to desert his furious path before they got swept up in the undercurrent of his rage. Much like Dream, Sapnap was well acquainted with the tastes of liquor- a strong wine would almost always be found paired with the grapevine laurel he had so graciously crowned himself. Nobody really understood the prince’s friend, as he’d seemingly appeared from nowhere claiming to be a rich aristocrat’s son. While he certainly had the funds to back it up, no record keeper could seemingly find a father figure with such incredible wealth. 

Not that it mattered much to Sapnap; by his arriving day’s end he’d already become friends with the crown prince himself, roping him into his devilish socialite lifestyle. Both Sapnap and Dream became inseparable after this: roaming around bars, brothels, and public baths with the feverish intent to acquaint themselves with every woman in the entirety of Athens.

It would serve as no surprise to Dream when he finally came across his passed-out friend in his gifted room within the palace (although he still acted shocked, for dramatic purposes). Sapnap was, as expected, in bed. Although this time, he’d managed to accumulate a plethora of women to sleep in the same bed with him. Same old Sapnap, same old ways. For modesty’s sake, Dream had adverted his eyes and pulled the covers over the women- it was not a sight he wanted to particularly see first thing in the morning, however beautiful they were. Turning back to look at the now covered women and his friend, the muscles of his jaw clenched in irritation. “Sapnap.” It came out rough from lack of use, but his voice managed to awaken a few of Sapnap’s female companions, who promptly got up from their sleeping positions and hurry from the room. Dream ignored them as they passed, not even sparing so much as a glance as they fled. 

Again, he spoke: “Sapnap, wake up.” Alas, no movement.

A wave of frustration brushed its icy fingers through the prince’s nervous system as he glared down at his friend- he’d missed their weekly hunting session to sleep in with harlots? Normally, Dream would understand, but this irritated him. His father had been increasingly persistent on the boy as of late, the Pre-Tournament festivity decorations were taking too long to organise and Dream was in dire need of a distraction. 

Huffing, Dream rubbed his face and retreated to the pitcher of water Sapnap kept in his room- for what? he didn’t know- dipping his tired hands into the cold water. His eyes fixated on the crystalline liquid as it dripped through his hands and caused ripples to dance along the smooth surface. In the reflection, he caught himself beginning to smile as a plan formulated in his head. “Oh, Sapnap~” The prince sang, hands wrapping around the neck of the pitcher vase, hoisting it with a grunt as he carried it to his friend’s sleeping form. “You know, you really stink…” He trailed off, grin wicked as he lifted the heavy object over his head, the satisfying slosh of the water inside urging him to set it free, “How about you have a bath, dear friend?”

The pitcher tipped, screaming for freedom as it immediately made contact with the sleeping man. Dream had slightly underestimated the sheer volume of the water inside but doubled over in a fit of wheezing laughter as his friend’s eyes immediately snapped open. A sopping Sapnap instantly rose from his peaceful slumber in a screaming fit, now completely drenched in water, screaming bloody murder. As he thrashed around the bedsheets that held him in place, Dream had now resorted to laying on the floor to ease his cries of laughter, the fruitless attempt to quell his laughs proved inept as the satisfying thump of Sapnap’s rear on the stone floor erupted a second and more violent roar of wheezes and giggles. 

“What the- Dream? What the…Oh my…Cold…Holy f- it’s so cold, Dream! Get a towel, something! I haven’t got any clothes!” A stream of unintelligibly strung together words fell through chattering teeth as the prince wiped his oncoming tears and stood up, assessing the damage. There his friend was, miraculously having brought some of the bed with him to cover himself, his laurel of grapevines somehow still attached to his head. Was it sewn on or something? No matter. Dream had other things to think about.

Throwing a towel and clothes at his friend, the prince straightened his posture and cleared himself of his last few laughs- a shit-eating grin still spread across his smug face- “You didn’t show up for our hunting session? What were you doing last night, huh?” He questioned, helping the now-dressed aristocrat up from the floor. “Out in the brothels again? Don’t you ever get bored?” 

“Oh come on, Dreamie-poo, as if you’re any better,” The other jested, punching his arm with his dripping fist lightly, “I like my fun, I don’t have to be organising some stupid party unlike a certain somebody I know- What’s up with that anyway? Isn’t it almost done?” He queried, taking immediate note of the wince produced by the prince at the question, “Oh, Dream. Don’t tell me—“

“We literally disappeared from the palace for four days while we were in the new bar that had recently opened, Sapnap, it’s not my fault!”

“Okay one: don’t tell me you regret that because we absolutely wrecked that place and we had a great time doing it, and two: Couldn’t you have…Oh I don’t know…asked your servants to possibly do the decorations while you were gone?” His smile had now faded, face taking a slightly concerned mask as he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It can’t be that bad, surely…”

“Okay, so maybe it is that bad.” 

In the great throne room stood Dream and Sapnap, looking among the empty tables with shocked looks.

“Say, Dream?”

“Yes?”

“When exactly did you say the festival party was?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh right, so we’ve got a wh- TONIGHT?” Sapnap gasped, his palm connecting to his forehead in shock as he exchanged a mildly horrified glance between the prince and the empty room, instantly groaning in pain as a wave of nausea from his already terrible hangover increased tenfold. “Gods of Olympus, Dream, I think I’m going to be sick-“ The words left his mouth hurriedly as the smaller male ran for a vase nearby, emptying the contents of his stomach with a terrible wretch.

In return, Dream had rolled his eyes and pulled Sapnap’s fringe from his face, huffing once again. “Sap, you should go to the apothecary, Wilbur should have more cures for your nausea in stock. I can’t have you vomiting at my party like some low-class simpleton- at least wait a few hours and get a bit drunk to save yourself the embarrassment!” A chortle rose to form in the prince’s throat as he imagined the infamous Sapnap throwing up before he’d even seen a drop of wine. With a wave of his hand, his preoccupied friend agreed silently and batted Dream’s hands from his hair before he stood up and wiped his lips.

“Alright, alright, you’re right…but if I die in the city on my own, I’m blaming you, Prince Clay.”

Walking through the streets of Athens proved to be slightly more taxing than Sapnap had originally thought while he dragged his feet through the dirt road towards the apothecary. It had already been a chore to evade the palace guards who pleaded to escort him through the city- he did not need the extra embarrassment of possibly needing a human crutch. His pride simply couldn’t allow it.

After what seemed to be an endless eternity of walking, Sapnap rounded the corner to the apothecary, pushing open the door with a forceful grunt. Inside laid shelves upon shelves of herbs and salves that appeared to be written in a completely different language. Surely not, right? They were in Greek, right? The aristocrat leaned into the jars, squinting hard as if he were examining when in reality he genuinely had no idea what in Olympus’ name was going on. 

It was the timing of the cough that resounded from him that made Sapnap question if behind him stood Zeus himself to aid his troubles, but when he turned around, he was met with a shorter male with enchantingly different eyes.

“Are you…Are you doing okay, sir? You look like you were about to fall into the shelf with how close you were leaning into the jars…Do you need help?” The unknown boy smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting into a friendly grin that almost split through Sapnap’s headache immediately. Casting his gaze over the boy, he noted the attire of the young boy to be one he frequently saw flashing by the royal philosopher’s observatory. As he tried to think of the boy’s name, another cough snapped him back into reality, stuttering out an attempt at an answer before taking a breath and straightening himself out.

“Uh- Yes! Yes, I have a skull-splitting headache from…well, I hit my head! Drea- Uh…Prince Clay sent me here to gather some supplies for his store…Could you possibly help me?” Sapnap cursed his stuttering, internally rolling his eyes at his complete lack of sense, but it didn’t seem to phase the other in the slightest as he reached past the hungover man’s shoulder to the shelf angled above his head. “Prince Clay? You’re a friend of the prince? That must mean you’re Sir Nick-“ 

“Sapnap, I go by Sapnap, please.”

“My apologies, Sapnap.” George pulled back from the shelf clutching a few jars of an amber liquid, placing them in his basket and handing one to the other, “This is nectar, it’s sort of a short-term cure all-in-one miracle thing. My mentor, Philza? You might know him, he’s the head philosopher of the royal council here in Athens…his shoulder blades sometimes tense up and he finds using this along with a few ingredients mixed into a solution works miracles. I’m only here because he needs it for the festival party tonight.”

In all honestly, if you were to ask Sapnap to repeat the words George had just spoken to him, he genuinely would struggle immensely with the task; despite this, he did manage to grasp the words: ‘Philza’, ‘Philosopher’ and ‘festival party’. This peaked his attention immediately, clutching the jar of nectar in his fingers tightly, “Are you attending the festival party with him, then? Surely an apprentice-“

“Oh…” George’s eyes trailed off to the side as he tried to formulate words, “I don’t think I exactly want to go, it doesn’t seem fun-“

“No, you really should! It’s going to be grand! Spectacular! Women everywhere, you know? Just what we young men really need-“ Sapnap’s gloating was immediately cut off by the quirk of George’s eyebrow, shutting up instantly. “‘We young men’? Who’s ‘we’?” George stepped back slightly from the taller man in front of him, “I have work to catch up on, maps and books to translate…I’m not some high-class aristocratic man who fools around all day. With all due respect, Sir, this is my life I’m concerned about…”

The raven-haired male pouted as he thought of the implications of his words. This boy needed to loosen up, live a little! He seemed like the perfect candidate for corruption and Sapnap was always one for a challenge: “How about this?” He began, mischief dripping from his words, “You attend the party- Ah! No interrupting, you haven’t heard me out first! Okay…You attend the party tonight and tomorrow night’s party of the Tournament’s eve…and I’ll slip in a word to the old codgers at the council and possssssibly… Prince Clay himself…about you. Give you a little head start above the rest of the candidates, how does that sound?”

George almost instantly perked up at the suggestion of being recommended to not only philosophers but directly to the royal family themselves. May it possibly have been against his better judgment to take the aristocrat up on his offer? Possibly- No, definitely. But George was desperate, and this was an easy access token. “So you’re saying you’ll send word around the council of my efforts? The Prince too?”

“The Prince too,” Sapnap stuck out his hand for George to shake, finalizing the deal, “But you have to tell me your name, there’s no point in me rambling on about you to those idiots without a name to put to a face, now is there?” His shit-eating grin grew almost impossibly wide across his cheeks as George’s smaller and paler hand met with his roughened, olive one. “George” The boy mumbled, as if the word were venom on his tongue, “My name is George.”

“Well, George, I’ll be seeing you at the festival tonight, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream is scared of the upcoming tournament.
> 
> George is reminded of a past unwelcomed.

The sweltering beams of the midsummer sun cast monochrome paintings on the dirt path below the demigod. His eyes fixed on a solitary ant that crawled across the earth, desperate to find its nest. With a cocked head, Sapnap wondered if he was looking at himself in a way- confined to the Earth for as long as he could remember, wandering across an unknown land. Maybe he was being irrational, maybe he was being overdramatic...but it hurt. 

Sapnap’s objective was clear; whenever he strayed away, he’d always hear the same droning voice of his father in his ears telling him to stay the course and get back on track. Stay with Clay, stay with Dream, stay by his side and follow him like a lost puppy wherever he went. Nothing more, nothing less. Sapnap’s eyes focused and unfocused, but remained fixated on the ant. How insignificant it was really, much like the people that moved around him. Deep down, he knew he’d outlive most of them, there wasn’t a point in formalities- in growing close. 

Growing attachments would end up in pain. 

“Oi, I don’t think the floor is going to help you order the staff around. This is like the second time you’ve completely spaced out on me, Sapnap, come on.” A sandal appeared, and the ant was crushed. Huh, well that was awfully ironic. 

“I wasn’t spaced out- I was just catching my breath, it’s hot out here, you know?” Sapnap’s gaze raised to meet the prince in front of him, the charming shit-eating grin he’d grown so comfortable with now smeared across his face.

“You were spaced out,” Dream’s arms remained folded, brows furrowed and eyes squinted in a poor attempt to keep the sunlight from invading his vision, “Man, come on-” 

“I’m coming, oh great prince of Athens, Prince Clay! Prince Dream! Dream of A-”

“I will genuinely strike you down where you stand, you smug son of a bitch.” Dream’s stern face melted immediately at the antics of his friend, reaching a hand to pat him on his shoulder and bring him close. “I was thinking recently, Sap…” Dream began, turning to him once they reached the main hall,

“Ouch, don’t do that often, huh?” he huffed in response, which earned a glare, “Okay! Okay, you were thinking?”

“I don’t know, I just think that...you know, this tournament,” Dream swallowed, nerves clearly weaving into his words. “What if I fail in front of everyone? What if I mess up and the people laugh at me? I don’t exactly feel like becoming a laughing stock, Sap.” 

He watched his friend closely, noting the way the tremors in his fingers gradually increased as he thought more and more. If you looked closely, you could watch the undoing of the usually put-together prince. Not like he’d admit it, but it was painfully obvious to an untrained eye.

Sapnap sighed, moving to stand in front of Dream while firmly planting his hands on his shoulders. “Hey, hey. You’re getting yourself worked up, and for what? You’ve taken me and probably half the army that Athens has in preparation for this tournament, what’s a few aristocrats and princes to you? You’ve won this damn thing 2 years in a row,” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, exhaling dramatically before looking back up to his friend, “You’re not going to lose.”

“Thank you.” came a small whisper.

The demigod’s ears instantly perked up at the apology, a smirk biting into his cheeks, “What was that?”

“Nothing.” spat the prince, who conveniently turned his head to hide his oncoming emotions.

“Bullshit.”

“Bull-true.”

“That’s not even a word-”  


“George!” a voice called from underneath one of the desks. Philza’s form was visible from underneath the table by just his rear. “Could you quickly pass me the papyrus that I put in the chest? I need to write a letter and my reed fell underneath the table.” 

A moment passed, and Philza failed to catch any sign of life other than his own in the room. “George?” He called out, coming out from under the table with the reed clutched between his fingers securely. Scanning the room over once, he quickly saw the sleeping form of his apprentice tucked into his bed. “Oh, of course, he sleeps when I need him.” Philza rolled his eyes, stalking towards the bed. 

With the tip of his sharpened reed, he prodded the apprentice’s cheek until he had elicited a reaction from the sleeping form. George’s face crumpled at the feeling of being disturbed, a hand raising to swat the intrusion away with a small: “Piss off.”

“Oh, piss off I’d love to, but I’m not the one sleeping on a job and avoiding my work.” He stated in a very matter-of-fact tone to the now awakened George, who sat bolt upright in his seat.

George’s eyes scanned over the room before landing on the annoyed man in front of him. “Ah, hello! Yes! I was just...closing my eyes!”

“For three hours?” a bitten reply.

The apprentice nodded, smiling brightly, “For three- THREE HOURS?” As soon as the smile came, it was immediately smacked from his face. “Phil! We’ve got to be at the festival in-”

“In an hour, George, yes. I didn’t think you’d sleep for that long, but here we are, I guess.” He scratched the side of his head, a yawn tickling the back of his throat, “I retrieved your clothes for the festival, by the way, since you weren’t exactly conscious.”

The aforementioned visibly relaxed at the reassurance that his garments had been sorted out, slumping back into the bed that he’d been so rudely awoken from. “I don’t know how to thank you,” He said, raising an arm over his eyes, “I think I’d be lost without you, Phil.”

“Oh, you’d most likely be dead if I didn’t find you.” The blunt reply was immediately followed by a choked gasp from the brunette. “No, you know what I mean.”

At that, he stilled. George knew of his heritage, how he came to be. His left hand raised, touching the softened skin underneath his blue eye. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to escape it. Maybe in his dreams, he could pretend that he was a different person, with the mirages of a perfect family waiting for him with open embraces and whispers of a normal life.

George was, for all intents and purposes, different from the average Athenian. Much akin to the hungover Sapnap he’d made acquaintance with the day before, George was also of Olympian descent. A simple affair really, as much usually is prone to happen with people in Athens: The Goddess Aphrodite. In her usual stints with lovers whom she could not remember the faces of, she’d found herself with a child. In a panicked attempt to hide the said child from both her husband, Hephaestus, and her Olympian lover, Ares, she’d hidden the newborn baby boy in a small hut on the outskirts of Athens. 

Although he was raised simply, his existence was far from the former. The hut in which he’d been placed was actually home to a farmer and his wife, both of whom were in no financial situation to take care of the boy, but did so out of thin morality. They couldn’t abandon a newborn and leave it to die on the side of the road, so instead, they had taken him in and coddled him. Only until the time of George’s sixth birthday did they start acting differently; Smaller amounts of food at the table, fewer clothes being washed, shorter conversations, the dodged glances. 

What the young demigod didn’t know, they had already planned for his departure long before he was remotely prepared for it.

So when the fateful day had rolled around, George found himself pounding the front door of his old hut home, tears rolling down his cheeks as he pleaded with his “parents” to allow him entry into the house. He didn’t understand the situation- how could he? His fist collided with the hardwood of the door for a final time before he stepped back in defeat.

Only when he turned around and headed down the dirt path towards the city, did George really experience his first death. The loss of a sense of family had killed his heart the first time, and it was up to himself to mend and revive his cold organ.

“George? George!” The fingers snapping in front of his face had rudely awoken the boy, saving his breath from being stolen in the watery depths of his memories. “Get dressed.” 

His eyes wandered to the clothing now laying beside him on the bed, the garment was simple. An off-coloured white chiton laid out flat, accompanied by a lengthy stretch of linen lined with a fine stitch of golden thread. George’s hands found the fabric, hands roaming the craftsmanship with wonder. “I didn’t ask for this, Phil, did you buy this? How- How much would this have cost?”

The latter merely shook his head, hand waving dismissively as he began to walk towards his own clothes he’d prepared. “George, you’re a competitor about to be thrown into the lion pit, you have to make an example of yourself in order to get noticed”

George hung his head, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. His mind drifting off to the aristocrat he’d met in the apothecary for a brief moment before he turned to Philza with a semi-optimistic smile. “You know what? You’re right, Phil. You’re right. I do need to get out there, and I think I have someone who can help me get directly to the prince himself.”

A cocked brow and a smirk were returned to the young demigod, Philza’s intrigue piqued at the idea of his protegee making his own connections, his own path of his own accord. “Well, look at you, confident. We’ll make a fine court member of you yet, boy,” the wizened man leaned forward to level with the young apprentice, “But...George. Listen. Once you’re in the lion’s den, I won’t be there to clear your remains from the floor should you step out of line. Remember that, and join their pride.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of festivities.
> 
> George has an unsavoury encounter with an aristocrat, and Sapnap is a knight in shining armour.
> 
> Dream sits there being bored. As he does.

“George,” a voice started,

“Dream,” another, from further away,

“Would you stop pacing?” Both parties yelled at their respective friends. In another circumstance, they’d both laugh and shout at each other about their raving likeness. 

George stopped in his tracks at the request of Philza, snapping out of the trance he was in, eyes peeling from the floor up to the taller. “I’m sorry, I just...There are so many people in there.” Shifting in his chlamys, George adjusted the fabric that draped itself across his shoulder and mentally prepped his overbearing mind. 

“Remember, George, everything will be fine so long as you play your part.”

“I’m not pacing, I’m just walking...In a line...while turning and- You’re such a smart-ass, you know that? You know that, Sapnap?” Dream rubbed a tired hand over his face as he slumped down in the prince’s throne of the royal hall, rolling his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong, huh? Then why do you look like you’ve been struck across the face by some random woman?” Sapnap jeered on at his friend, eliciting a small smile from the Prince’s lips. With a muttered ‘shut up’, Dream shook his head and looked over the growing festival party. 

Philza’s gaze scraped across the playing field, edging his apprentice into the room with a smile as he greeted associates and acquaintances alike, shaking hands and exchanging few words. George always wondered how he was such a ‘people-person’- No, it wasn’t that, Philza oftentimes told him how much he hated the others for their pretentious attitude. 

Philza was just an actor, a damn good one at that.

The son of Aphrodite was surprisingly not in tune with the surrounding party. Over the faces of the aristocrats and members of the court alike, his senses began to blend. One face bled to another, a voice mixed in a chorus of laughter. Nauseatingly, the visage of the guests had all but melded into a myriad of smoke and echoes. 

“Do you wish to dance with me?” a voice peered through the crowd and into George’s ears, his attention captivated by the light touch on his shoulder and the gentle voice it held. Upon turning around, the boy was met with the smiling figure of a taller and tanned man. Obviously upper class, from the way he dressed to the aura he carried around with him. From the tense atmosphere to the kind smile the stranger possessed, George took the more comforting option.

“I’d love to.”

And away he was, whisked within the crowd of dancers in the middle of the tables. A more refined Dionysiac dance carried through the royal hall. Bodies worked around each other in tandem, a clockwork of cogs never designed to match- yet still, the display was beautiful to the eye of the beholder. 

Dream’s bedazzled began to ache as he laid his chin on his palm, overlooking the festivities in boredom. He’d opted to stay seated most of the time, watching his friend closely to see who he mingled with and danced with. However, on occasion, his eyes would wander to a brown-haired boy caught within the ocean of aristocrats. He’d catch him for a flash, before losing him once again behind a taller figure. 

It tapped at his heartbeat ever so slightly. A sort of deja-vu that he couldn’t touch upon. The boy’s face was one he’d seen before, like greeting an old friend- No.

This boy was a memory, one Dream could not quite comprehend.

And as he appeared, he was lost once again.

In the midst of the dancing, George had finally weaved his way through the crowd and towards the decorated table of food, picking up a watered-down chalice of wine to sip from. It had proven to be very easy to lose his mentor in the crowds of people that had gathered, much to George’s disliking. Alas, he raised the chalice to his lips and allowed the liquid to sit on his tongue before swallowing. 

Once again, a voice had cut through the symphony of voices. Unlike the first, it was jarring, a gruff and croaky undertone met with small, sly hand placement on the table behind George. The first thing he could detect was the heavy stench of wine and valerian on his breath.

The second was the other hand that brushed his lower waist.

“What’s your hourly rate?” 

Being the son of the god of wine was handy, sometimes...especially when it came to portion control. Sapnap must have consumed twice the amount of wine than the people that stood around him combined, yet managed to stay completely sober enough to dance his way through the crowds to the chalices of wine laid out. In a singular fluid motion, he grabbed one of the cups and brought it to his face, inspecting the damned thing as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d laid eyes on all evening. 

Only to pass the time.

“What’s your hourly rate?” 

Sapnap’s neck almost snapped at the intensity of which he turned to the offending voice. Had the man been addressing him, he would’ve had him executed for such a hideous question. Instead, Sapnap noticed the fingers first- how the greasy tendrils touched upon fabric- then up to the victim of the creepy predator. 

Those mismatched eyes pleading for help was all it took for Sapnap to understand.

“I say!” Sapnap swept in, “Ah, Aeschylus! I see you’ve made acquaintance with my dear friend George!” a hand enclosed the offending limb, prying it off the young boy’s waist. “He’s a good and dear friend of mine, say, what were you two talking about- hmm?” Although the sweetness of his voice had placed a calm blanket of security over George (who relaxed quite easily into Sapnap’s grip), the now-burning mauve of the demigod’s eyes seared through the intoxicated man’s soul.

Aeschylus quickly backed off, much to both Sapnap and George’s delight. Once the filthy man was out of either’s sight, Sapnap removed his hand from the shorter’s waist. “You actually came?” 

“Yeah, I had to...but I didn’t expect to be mistaken for a male-”

“Don’t worry, you stick with me and I’ll make sure it never happens again,” a cheeky grin spread across Sapnap’s face as he motioned for George to follow him as he walked towards the royal section, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to somebody I know. A good friend of mine, really.”

“You have a lot of 'good friends’, sir…” George trailed off, his eyes wandering across the dance floor as he wondered where the snake had slinked off to.

“Oh, I just said he was my friend, everyone’s...a friend of sorts. Even you.” with a motion of his hand, the guards split, revealing a bored-looking Dream sat upon his throne. “Oh Zeus in heaven, do you really have to look like you got shat on by a bird every time I come to see you? Look! I brought a friend this time! He helped me in the apothecary.”

Their eyes met.

Olive green connecting to chestnut and sapphire.

“So you’re the boy in the apothecary.” The bored prince sat up, cracking his wrist to set it back after a long period of use propping up his chin. “Are you having fun, medicine boy?” he asked, a brow cocking in interest.

George stood there in disbelief, blinking for a few seconds before registering the question. “My name is George, not medicine boy, your highness.” he stated curtly, “And yes, I’m having fu-”

“Aeschylus got his filthy grubby dirty fingers on him, Dream. I’ve been telling you for months to replace him! All he does is bed young men and smoke that filth! He doesn’t even do his job properly! What even is his job, for Olympus’ sake?” Sapnap threw his hands up in the air in quite a fantastical way, clearly distraught with the actions of the man previously. The prince, or Dream- as George figured, merely watched with a small smile as his friend raved on.

“Will you be attending the pre-tournament festivities tomorrow, George?” Dream leaned forward, hands lacing together to prop his chin up from his knees as he peered down at the son of Aphrodite. He’d completely disregarded Sapnap’s statement, which prompted the Dionysian to close his mouth in a pout of sorts. “I do hope to see you there, as you are a friend of Sapnap.” 

“I’ll be attending, your royal-”

“Dream, please.”

“Okay, Dream, I’ll be attending tomorrow. I’m currently with my mentor Philza, one of your court members.” he smiled, pride welling in his chest at the sound of being Philza’s apprentice. Although he didn’t mention it, George was always proud of his status and how far he’d come from being an orphaned child.  
This appeared to intrigue the prince more, as he hummed in satisfaction and sat back against his throne with a pleased expression. “Good, good. I’ll have the guards become familiar with you since you’ll be with Sapnap tomorrow. Our champions for the tournament will be arriving tomorrow, so you will have the chance to meet them.”

“George!” a voice beckoned from behind George, who was watching the prince’s eyes flick up to the source. Turning around, he watched as Philza waved from the crowd. “George, it’s time to leave, we have work to attend to! It’s a new moon!” 

“It appears our time is cut, apothecary boy.” The prince’s voice rang in George’s ears as a larger hand settled on the top of his right arm, the warm feeling of Dream’s body against his left side causing him to jolt a second, looking up to meet his eyes. “I do hope you will attend tomorrow.”

George removed himself from the prince’s grasp immediately, bowing slightly to both him and Sapnap before scuttling off after Philza.

Meanwhile, Sapnap’s now-oceanic blue eyes turned to Dream with a shit-eating grin, elbowing the monarch’s side in a jest. “You’re-”

“Don’t say it.”

“You’re shit at making friends.”

“Oh, shut up.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tributes are introduced, only two days until the Tournament for the title of Olympian Champion.
> 
> A few new players enters the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> Just me popping in, ya know, the works.
> 
> If you could leave a kudos / comment for engagement, I'd really appreciate it! Lemme know what you think, any ideas on what might happen! 
> 
> Enjoy!

By the early evening of the second day of festivities, all expected boats from the champion cities had arrived in Athens. The citizens of Athens eagerly waited for the men to approach the road to the royal palace; dianthus, campanula, aconite, and aster petals alike clutched in their hands, ready to throw at the feet of the next possible Tournament Champion.

The Olympian Tournament was an annual event in which the city of Athens would play host to five other cities in the surrounding area, each offering two courageous men as tributes to fight until a yield was offered- or death, whichever would come first. If a tribute from a certain area had passed away, it would be up to the designated place to provide another in their place or forfeit their place in the Tournament.  
In the previous years, Dream had gained a notable winning streak of three years since he’d been granted eligibility at 16. Now at the ripe age of 20 years respectively, it had been fair to say he had the experience. Sapnap had often given up around the third match each year, much to Dream’s irritation. Although Sapnap had insisted it was to have fun at the many brothels and bars that littered the city, he really gave out to watch his best friend succeed every time. 

Sapnap most certainly was a sucker for a champion.

“Here they come!”

At once, the cheers of celebration pounded the paved streets of Athens as the emergence of the tributes was announced by the soldiers at the docks, barely heard over the rambunctious crowd:

“From Sparta: Technoblade and Tomathy Simons!” The announcer cried, revealing two men clad in luxurious togas and gold-plated jewellery alike on their chariot. Noticeably the shorter of the two, Tommy, had taken notice to the calling of his full name and had promptly flushed red with irritation.  
“It’s Tommy! I told you to call me Tommy! Not- Gods! It’s Tommy, innit, Techno! Tell ‘em!” He shouted, elbowing the frightening man next to him.

Technoblade was a behemoth, to put it plainly. Standing at 6 feet and 5 inches tall, he easily towered over the competition- a scowl burned into his scarred face so fierce it was rumoured he could withstand the killing gaze of a gorgon with ease. The bloody crimson tint of his eyes further fuelled the many rumours about the mysterious man, some even theorising he was born of the war god Ares’ blood.  
Probably the most alluring fact about the brute was the mane of hair he carried, which easily descended past his back, to his lower waist. What baffled most, was the colour. A startling dusted rose pink, unnatural in every way. He’d made an effort to have it braided for the ceremony, so it had been shortened for more practical purposes. The intricate weave of hair now landing to his mid-back. 

The man simply turned to his fellow Spartan, raising a slashed brow at him in a look that would’ve most likely terrified any other person, and spoke calmly and lowly. “Be quiet, you’re making us look like a theatre act.”

Immediately, the blonde snapped his jaw shut, rolling his eyes. Tommy had turned the ripe age of 16 a few months ago, marking this to be his first Olympian Tournament. He’d managed to scrape in by pure chance, having his name drawn from a pot of thousands back in Sparta, much to the disappointment of the other eligible men. Oh, how he basked in the glory from both his parents and city, vowing to everybody he met that he’d already won with the great Technoblade on his side- a 5-time Olympian Champion.

This, however, was not the case for the shivering brunette on the next chariot. His hands shook with a kind of nervousness that would leave a person exhausted if they tried to replicate it. The two Corinthians were each first-timers, as their preceding tributes had each met their fate on Athens soil. The first boy, Purpled, stood with an easy-going expression, as he waved to the crowds around. He’d volunteered to enter on the behalf of one of his friends back home, a brave move considering the seemingly cursed luck that Corinth held in the tournament. Despite this, Purpled held himself with an aura of pride and determination, something that amused the Athenian crowd as his tribute partner appeared to be his antithesis.

Tubbo was a shorter boy, cheeks filled with puppy fat that hadn’t yet burned off. His eyes of azure blue brimmed with tears while he barely scraped a look at the crowd before him. At first, when Tubbo had agreed to join the Tournament, he believed his choice was right- that he would just get by and come home with some kind of glory for his family.  
Oh, how cruel the fates of life that wove his symphony.  
“Hey- Hey, it’s okay. You know we’ll be fine, it’s just a little swordplay and then you can forfeit or something.” a warmth on his shoulder settled a sort of fleeting peace on the small boy, who looked up at the blonde beside him.  
“Are...Are you sure? I mean- If…” the brunette replied, swallowing harshly, “If I die-”  
“You won’t die, not on my watch, now look ahead, we’ve got Athens to please.”

Soon enough, the sun had dipped itself below the horizon long enough to play host to each set of tributes. The festivities were set, and it was time for George to once again find himself staring at the door of the royal throne room. Philza had already taken it upon himself to enter a few minutes earlier, convincing George that if he were to enter on his own and find his aristocrat friend, he would look as though he were capable enough to maneuver through a high-intensity atmosphere and handle himself accordingly. Although George knew it was a ploy for Philza to get in early to the food table and not deal with his apprentice’s misguided anxiety, he didn’t press further into the matter.

“And why are you loitering outside when there’s a fully functioning party inside?” George turned immediately at the sound of a deep voice, blood running cold at the thought of the old codger from before coming back to meet him, but was instead greeted with the tanned stranger who’d asked him to dance. Immediately, the demigod perked up in relief, smiling.

“Fancy seeing you here…” George stepped closer, about to address him until the sudden realisation that he’d practically walked away without a word yesterday, “Oh, my apologies! I didn’t quite catch your name yesterday…”

“Well, George, I didn’t exactly throw it.” The stranger pushed off from his slouched position against the wall, grinning deviously at the other, “It’s Alexis. Alexis Quackity. I’ll be competing in the tournament in two days’ time.”

Straightening up, Alex reached over George and grinned, which flustered him greatly due to the close proximity. “Oh- Don’t get any ideas, sweetheart, I’m just letting myself in.” And with that, the door to the hall opened, with it took the stranger.

George’s brain had completely short-circuited so much that he almost didn’t register that the door was closing behind him. Quickly, he turned around and pushed it open, slipping inside the hall mostly unnoticed. Mostly.  
“George! Oh, my good friend, my darling, my best acquaintance! You took forever! I’ve been waiting for you!” The rambunctious noise obviously belonged to Sapnap. Who else would it be at this point? He turned towards his newly made friend and gasped, turning just in time to miss the barreling demigod who promptly slammed face-first into the door behind him. “Ow- Fuck! George! What the hell! You’re just as bad as Dream!” He pulled away from the door and rubbed his reddening nose with a scowl that left almost as quickly as it came.  
“How ya doing? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost...get some of this down your skinny little neck! We’ve got a party to have!” Sapnap thrusted a goblet of wine into his friend’s hand, an arm also circling around his shoulders to steer him towards his royal buddy. “Aaaand...Your favourite friend is back!” He called, removing himself from George altogether.

“Aaaand who would that be?” Dream turned promptly to meet Sapnap, raising a brow as he looked past him to gaze at the partygoers, “Can you see them? I sure can’t. George, can you see who Sapnap is referring to?” George, not wanting to disagree with the prince, flicked his eyes around the many faces, shaking his head quickly to agree with Dream. “See? Even your little friend-”  
“Excuse you-”  
“You’re excused, anyways, even your little friend has failed to find this so-called ‘favourite friend’” With a shit-eating grin, Dream turned back to look at the table of food, before picking up a few olives from a platter. Sapnap had all but tuned out to what the royal was talking about, opting to fill his cup up from a nearby water pitcher. 

George had all but been abandoned, alone with the prince of Athens himself. Yikes.

The both of them stood, one with olives, one with a goblet of watered down wine. Green with blue and brown. That was, until Dream decided to speak and break the deafening silence that choked their interaction. “You’re going to watch, right?”

“I-uh-what?” George blinked, trying to make sense of what he’d just been asked. “Oh! Yeah, I will be watching, I actually met one of the tributes earlier- Alexis Quackity? We danced together yesterday, he seems quite nice.”

“So you’re an Athenian, watching a Cretan? Isn’t that, oh, I don’t know...a conflict of interest, maybe?” Dream stepped closer to George, raising one of the green olives he’d picked up from the platter to his lips, popping it into his mouth with a smile as he towered over the apprentice. “Shouldn’t you watch your prince? You are trying to get into my court after all, are you not?” His tone was teasing, irritating almost, digging under George’s pale skin and nesting itself in his nerves.

George rather quickly piped up at Dream with a tone as equally irritating, “Maybe I can two-time. There’s no rule saying I can’t support two teams, your highness.” He dared, moving forward ever-so-slightly, picking one of the olives from his hand, “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Oh, it sure would be something.” chirped the other while he bent down to meet the height of the shorter male, “something you most certainly wouldn’t want to do. If I were you, I’d be screaming my name from those stands in support. Wouldn’t you want what’s best for your designated tribute? Or-”

“-Seriously? Am I interrupting something here?” Sapnap stood before the two, two cups of wine in each of his hands. George looked down with a slightly confused expression- Wasn’t he just at the water pitchers? Where did he get the wine? “I leave for maybe two seconds and you two are at each other’s throats? Or lips, I can’t really tell.” The demigod cleared his throat, extending a cup towards Dream, which the prince graciously took, sipping to rid himself of the now awkward atmosphere.

-

Alexis Quackity’s eyes hadn’t left the brunette the entire night, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched him interact with the socialites of the party, most notably the prince. His main concern was who he was mingling with, and who he was already associated with. Where there was George, there was Sapnap. With Sapnap came Dream. It was an easy access route, almost too easy.  
A small scoff slipped past the Cretan’s lips as he kicked off from the wall he’d been leaning on, slipping out of the hall through one of the back doors, out of sight and out of mind. 

Before him stood a towering presence, bathed in the shadows of the dimly lit candlelight. Standing at 6’7 stood his tribute partner, easily overshadowing his height of just 5’11. The door behind him closed with a soft thud, alerting the figure in front of him to his presence. He didn’t turn, didn’t even move in acknowledgement, just stood with his back to Quackity. 

“Shall we begin?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tribute's night is here.
> 
> A new arrival comes in slightly late with a slightly less-new face beside him.
> 
> Naïve first loves are yet again a pain in the fucking ass. Who knew falling in love with someone within a day of knowing them could turn out like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 10k words. huh.
> 
> I really need to get outside.
> 
>   
> Also! I made a playlist to listen to while writing/reading this book.
> 
> Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4pwHmgHphMLbRmgCdjoT2A?si=d5UTiHBES8CX1sf6xEKrzA
> 
> Enjoy, and have fun reading!
> 
> :]

The eve of the tournament was an event within itself, the real night in which each tribute would acquaint themselves with the competition and make a statement for themselves and their respective city that they were representing. At this party, they were their cities, they were the pride and joy. 

So when the door opened 30 minutes late, everybody turned.

George immediately looked over to see the commotion, finding it slightly unnerving that the entire room had gone completely silent. Normally, people would be slipping in and out with no problem, but something about the energy in the room had settled an icy mist over each partygoer. 

At the door stood a man easily taller than Technoblade, dressed in the finest soft woolen himation that money could offer, the bloody red chiton underneath seemingly glimmered in the light with every breath he took. What confused George the most was his face- or lack thereof. With his face obstructed by a bronze helmet that only showed a sliver of his visage, the visible parts left what was unseen up to interpretation. The helmet was of Cretan descent, made obvious by the rounder and more open eye-holes- although alterations had been made to the design brought true by the obvious two curled horns that adorned either side (probably cut straight from a bull and welded on as they were most certainly not made from any metal).  
Probably an intimidation tactic, George thought to himself.  
The man held eyes of murky brown, almost red- like Technoblade’s- but his burned with this intensity that the other could never hope to have. From the small opening in the lower region of the helmet, he watched as the man smiled a close-lipped grin, bowing before the guests of the party.

“Apologies for the late coming, I am Jebediah Schlatt from the isle of Crete, tribute of Crete along with my dear friend here- Alexis Quackity.” 

Upon Schlatt’s words, the previously icy atmosphere had rested, now knowing that there wasn’t some form of gatecrashing going on. Conversations slowly began to pile back up and the music crept up once again. George returned to his idle talk with a random court member that Philza had told him to talk to until a light tap on his shoulder and a sneaking hand brushed his waist accompanied with a whisper in his ear, “So, are you tired of dancing yet, or would you like to share one with me?”

The calming timbre of Alexis’s voice had George melting at his fingertips, leaning back with a small smile. “Maybe, but I bet I could go for another round…” his eyes scanned across the large crowd once, “How about...outside? I much rather like the quiet, don’t you?” The demigod moved from Quackity’s grip, hand slipping down to encompass his wrist to lead him out of the main hall. Only momentarily did he catch the gaze of Sapnap, who mouthed a quick ‘What are you doing?’ paired with a surprised expression. George waved off the other, failing to catch the other pair of green eyes glued to him from beside the confused boy, finally exiting out of the room with Quackity, who only smiled fondly as he took George’s hands into a dancing position. 

“Tell me,” he mumbled as they swayed together to the soft music from inside, “Why do you always appear in the night and leave before I can talk to you properly?” 

“Fate, George. It works in mysterious ways, and let me tell you…” Quackity’s grin rippled fine dimples on his cheeks as he looked from George’s eyes to his lips, “I think we were meant to b-”

Quackity’s speech was cut off almost immediately by George’s lips pressing against his own with a severity unmatched. Shocked, he looked down to see the bright mismatched eyes now closed, rolling his own as he pretended to kiss the other back. Why was he really doing this again? Sure, George was an easy way to the prince, but was it really wise to use a person in such a manner? Alexis pondered the previous meeting with Schlatt while George kissed him with all the experience of a newborn giraffe- He’d never kissed anyone before and it was painfully obvious, albeit charming. 

“Dream- Oi, stop looking at the door man, you’ve got a party to host!” Sapnap’s fingers snapped in front of his friend’s face one, two, three times. Upon the fourth, he’d finally managed to get Dream’s attention. “What is with you? You know if you want to talk to him you could just go to him in the day- he does live- what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Dream’s eyes were narrowed while he observed Sapnap’s movements and speech, almost as if he were ready to pierce the man with his own blade. “Do you really think I’d devote my day time into conversing with commoners when I have a much bigger thing to be looking out for? Sapnap, I don’t know if you’ve noticed recently, but I have a tournament to win.” He held up a hand right as Sapnap opened his mouth, silencing him, “Don’t say a word, you drop out to fuck harlots and get drunk on pure wine- like a barbarian. Don’t even try it.” 

Sapnap was all but used to Dream’s hostility at the hands of the tournaments, so when the main adversary had turned his head at the Prince’s harsh tone, he could practically feel the tension heighten a hitch. 

“Ah! Prince Clay!” Technoblade’s smile broadened as he craned his neck downwards to peer down at Dream, holding his hand out expectantly, receiving a firm handshake. “How have you been, old friend? You’re competing again this year, aren’t you?” he jested, reaching to grab a chalice of watered-down wine from the table behind them. “Of course, my team has been decidedly upgraded. Tomathy is irritating, sure, but he’s good with a blade. Reminds me of you in your first tournament, the look of bloodlust in your eyes was very entertaining as I beat you to the ground, remember?”

Dream’s jaw had clenched so hard he could practically crush his teeth at the pressure, nostrils flaring as he warped the fine metal chalice ever so slightly in his hand. Technoblade was a good friend, sure, but a stickler for intimidating the competition. Always intimidation and riling up the enemy to make them misstep. Dream was well versed in handling this by now, so when he composed himself and took in a deep breath, it had Techno cocking a slitted brow. “I remember that very well, which is why I poured my heart and soul into beating you three years in a row, Blade- Now, how about you tell me more of this Tomathy character.”

“Well, of course, your majesty. He’s-”

“I’m the greatest man you’ll ever meet! I’m the bravest of the brave! I’m so amazing, in fact, I took down the Nemean lion all by myself. That stupid Hercules has nothing on me! He just took all of the credit, obviously. I like to keep myself on the down-low...that’s why you don’t know who I am!” Tommy had managed to inject himself into a conversation of mostly aristocrat’s wives- who brushed him off promptly to chat among themselves, which gravely hurt Tommy’s pride, “Hey, hey, ladies! Ladies! Whatcha laughing at? You want to know another- Wait! Why are you walking away? Gods! Women these days!”

“Did you...did you really kill the Nemean Lion?” a timid voice resounded from behind the wounded tribute, who quickly swiveled on his heel to meet the owner of the voice, “I’m sorry I just,” the boy lowered his eyes, fingers fumbling over each other as he tried to find the words to speak, “I just wanted to know if it was true- I’m Tubbo, by the way. Corinth- First-timer! Like you-”

“Tubbo! Nice to meet you, buddy!” Tommy grinned brightly at the shy teen in front of him, clasping a hand around his new friend’s shoulders.

“Now- Did I tell you the time I voyaged single-handedly to Sarpedon to behead the gorgon Medusa herself?”

“-He’s a compulsive idiot. If there even is a term for that.”

Alexis and George had pulled apart for air, the former noting how George’s cheeks now had a reddened tint to them. At that moment, he’d begun to feel sympathetic for him. Sure, he had no feelings to return, but the least he could do was let the love-struck boy down slowly. From the way his eyes shone to the high blush he wore, it was apparent that he’d stolen not only his first kiss- but his first love. He looked down to George’s hand, gingerly weaving his fingers with the other before he opened his mouth to speak and-

“Ah, Alexis. There you are.” A curt voice followed by the sound of footsteps had Quackity closing his mouth before he got the chance to speak, “and you must be an Athenian, well. I hope you don’t mind if I steal him from you for a second.” The hand on his shoulder weighed down on him as he dropped George’s hand, steering off down the hall. “You can have him back in a bit! Go back to the party, enjoy yourself!” Schlatt called back in the hallway, a cheeky laugh following as he and Quackity disappeared into the palace.

George was ecstatic the minute he entered the royal hall once again, skin practically glowing as he raced over to Sapnap and Dream- who all but looked at him with confused and disappointed expressions. 

“George,” Sapnap was first to speak, his tone rather monotonous, “What were you doing fraternizing with the enemy?”

Blinking a few times, George had completely short-circuited for a second before shaking his head and releasing a loud laugh in Sapnap’s face. “The- Oh my, did you call him the enemy? Really? Who are you, a mere schoolchild? I’m an adult, Sapnap. I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want.”

“Oh, you talked?” The Dioysian’s face feigned understanding as he looked at Dream and then back at George, his gaze hardening tenfold as he leaned in to whisper lowly out of the prince’s earshot, “I know kissed lips when I see them, and yours are mighty swollen, George. You should get that fixed up before people see- it might damage your reputation if you’re found to be kissing someone outside of Athens at a time like this.”

Lips? His lip- Oh. Oh shit.

George’s hand flew to his bottom lip, running his finger across the softened skin as he indeed felt it to be slightly different than he was more used to, nodding to Sapnap as he quickly bowed and excused himself from their presence, briskly turning and walking out of the obnoxiously loud party.

“What did you say to him? Why did he do that?” Dream leaned forward, sipping from his chalice in a curious inquiry, only to be waved off by Sapnap.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

It took no time for the young demigod to get lost in the palace by himself- not that it was entirely his fault, nobody had given him direct instructions to a basin or anything, so he’d been left to his own devices to roam around an unfamiliar place. How fortunate. 

“I can’t do this anymore, we have to change our strategy.”

A voice resounded softly, far off in the hall George was about to turn into, causing him to stop dead in his tracks at the ledge of the corner. He pondered for a second into turning, thinking what he’d heard was him simply hallucinating the voices. Slowly, he gained his composure once again, turning to move-  
“So- You’re dropping the George front? He’s a pathway to the prince, Alexis. You can’t have messed this up that easily.” George’s blood froze. That voice. Schlatt?

“I know he’s easy to access- but he’s just a boy, sir. He’s never even been in love before let alone been kissed...It’s just- I can’t do it.” Alexis? The same one who he’d danced with? Who he’d kissed not twenty minutes ago? What was this?

George’s body finally thawed from the ice that held his blood so solid. The violent churn of betrayal settling deep in his stomach as he turned, only for Schlatt’s voice to once again cut through the air.

“Fine, we’ll drop your advances on George...luckily for you, I’d predicted this outcome and...planned shall we say.”

“Planned?”

“I’ve contacted a sleeper agent within the city, specializing in poison. You will coat your blade on this night, leave it standing to dry before the fights tomorrow, and once you are faced with Prince Clay of Athens,” The cackle that resounded terrified George as it tossed itself against the walls of the seemingly abandoned part of the palace, “He’ll- He’ll be dead before he hits the ground! Drive it through his heart, Quackity, and we will have Athens like putty in our fingers.”

“So...you want me to kill the prince myself…?” Quackity’s voice was quiet, timid.

“Take him out, Alexis. You know I don’t appreciate such harsh terms.”

“Lip paint on a psychopath, that is…

I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, trust me- the kiss hurt you as much as it hurt me to write.
> 
> Can't wait for the dnf to come in 50k words time /j (enuine)
> 
> I'm really selling my mf soul on this mf book my god LMAO
> 
> Anyways! A comment or kudos is always appreciated for engagement! If you wanna bookmark the book, feel free! I do sometimes check them to see if there's a message left in the bookmark caption, tbh. 
> 
> Till next time!
> 
> :]

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! My name is Jupiter and you're watching me try to write a fic!
> 
> If anybody in the mcyt community expresses uncomfort towards anything towards fan-produced content- I will change accordingly or even delete it if necessary! Comfort is a priority to me!
> 
> I am currently trying to upload as much as I can with the schedule I have, so please be patient!  
> Criticism is welcome in the comments, don't forget to leave kudos! 
> 
> Have a nice day shawties ;)


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